


Working Hazards

by shaunhastings2012



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Anal Sex, Choking, Desk Sex, Don't Try This At Home, M/M, Not that much though, Strangling, Verbal Humiliation, sin - Freeform, slight dubcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 13:44:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5419277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaunhastings2012/pseuds/shaunhastings2012
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a couple of weeks since Rhys was promoted to co-ruling Hyperion with Jack, and he's still trying to figure out why he isn't dead yet and just how long that'll last. </p>
<p>Slight AU off the end of Episode 4 of Tales from the Borderlands</p>
            </blockquote>





	Working Hazards

**Author's Note:**

> A few fun notes about this one:  
> 1\. There was research done. No, for real, my roommate put me in a chokehold until I pretty much blacked out, just so that I'd be aware of how it feels. It was quite a time.  
> 2\. Approximately 250-300 words in this fic were written while more than one type of inebriated/impaired. Try to guess which.  
> 3\. I didn't even realize I was made of this much sin.

It’s been a couple of incredibly strange weeks since everything went down. Rhys is honestly more surprised than anything else that he isn’t dead yet, all things considered. He’s not sure what spot of altruism in Handsome Jack’s mind made him retract the idea to kill Rhys, to kill everyone, and possess their dead bodies with his own AI in some fucked-up mockery of world domination. Maybe he thought the effort wasn’t worth it. Maybe he realized that he would be incapable of getting along with an exact copy of himself, nevertheless thousands. Maybe, in some small humane part of him, he didn’t want Rhys dead – thought that was probably wishful thinking. Regardless of the reason, Rhys found himself almost trembling every time he was in the same room as the man, acutely aware that Handsome Jack’s whims are painfully capricious and that his place among the living could be a very temporary position. Jack could shoot him in an instant, stab him if he accidentally made a minor mistake, or could just throw him straight out an airlock – an old Hyperion classic. Rhys was constantly on edge, never knowing what to expect, hyper-conscious of the fact that Handsome Jack has never needed a reason to do anything. This unpredictability and anxiety was only made worse by the fact that he was always around the man.

Jack had, surprisingly, kept at least one of his promises. Rhys was co-ruling Hyperion with him, even if the ratio was more two-thirds to one-third rather than even. A second desk was added to Jack’s cavernous office and Rhys was transferred to it immediately. He honestly believes that Jack is trying to throw him off at this point, that he knows just how uneasy he feels around him and is trying to provoke him or make him as uncomfortable as possible. Rhys remembers one specific incident, early on. A terrified engineering was trying to explain to Handsome Jack that a project would be delayed by one day due to a recent system shutdown. Jack shot the employee without any hesitation, with the same nonchalance as if firing an employee and death were synonymous – though maybe they were the same in this godforsaken company. He thinks the worst part was how Jack didn’t bother to even look at the man, as if he was so utterly beneath him that his death wasn’t worth watching. He lined up the shot and carelessly tilted his head away, eyes locking with Rhys’ at the exact moment when he pulled the trigger. Rhys suppressed a full-body shudder and quickly dialed janitorial staff before the blood pool could spread too far. No, the worst part wasn’t that Jack didn’t look at the man he was killing. It was that when Jack chose to pin Rhys with his gaze instead, the shudder was not entirely one of horror.

At this point, all Rhys could do was hope that his turn would not be soon. As time passed, it wasn’t so uncomfortable anymore. He still expected to die at any point in time, but he let his nerves relax. He didn’t flinch when Handsome Jack spontaneously murdered employees, he didn’t glance over his shoulder every second his back was turned to the man. One time he even fell asleep at his desk and woke up with a crumpled jacket smelling suspiciously like Jack shoved under his head. Rhys had settled into something so calm and complacent that he shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was when something finally happened.

“Come here.” The voice echoed through the office and Rhys nearly choked on the coffee that he was drinking. He grabbed his tablet and hurriedly approached Jack’s imposing desk, the click of his shoes on the couple of steps unsettlingly loud in the silent room. He cautiously walked around the desk at a lazy motion of Jack’s hand. His face was inscrutable as he pulled the tablet out of Rhys’ hands and glanced through the last thing Rhys had been working on. He quirked an eyebrow and made a moderately approving sound and Rhys nearly made an audible sigh of relief. However, when Jack placed the tablet aside instead of handing it back, something in his stomach dropped in fear. He rose fluidly from his chair, the Hyperion throne, and stood directly in front of Rhys in blatant disregard for his person space. Rhys placed a hand on the desk behind him and tried to meet Jack’s stare. He knew that there was a chance that the boldness would piss him off, but being afraid is far more of a mistake in Jack’s book – he’s seen several men die just because they couldn’t keep the tremor out of their voices.

The only warning Rhys had was a slight quirk of Jack’s lips. Two seconds later he was sprawled back onto Jack’s desk, a pair of hands pressing down hard on his throat, Jack leaning over him, and all he could think was _‘oh god, this is how I die.’_ His hands flew up to curl around Jack’s hands and a panicked sounded escaped his throat as a muted wheeze. Jack shifted his grip and used his other hand to pin Rhys’ hands to the desk behind his head.

“You know, this is a _really_ good look on you.”

Something about the way Jack said it made Rhys shudder involuntarily. Jack loosened his grip around his throat and shifted between Rhys’ legs. The movement sent a flash of heat through Rhys from where he felt Jack’s hips press against him. “Huh, I’ve got to hand it to you, you are one messed up kid. You are enjoying this _so much._ ” Rhys realized with a jolt that he was achingly hard. Jack retightened his grip and the harsh press of his thumb into Rhys’ neck made his cock twitch in his pants and a choked whine claw its way out of his throat. “You could come from just this, couldn’t you? I bet I wouldn’t even need to touch you.” Rhys is glad for the pressure on his throat because he’s sure whatever sound he tried to make would’ve been embarrassing if it wasn’t stifled. “F-fuck”, he manages to wheeze.

Jack’s eyes narrowed in response. “Now Rhys, I don’t like that kind of language in my office.” He removed his hand from Rhys’ neck to rest his thumb over his hipbone. “Especially not coming from you.” Rhys frantically tried to catch his breath as Jack freed his hands, unbuttoning his pants and dragging them off of his hips. The slow, rough friction of the fabric made him dig his fingers into the edge of the desk, not trusting his hands to be anywhere near Jack. A sharp bark of laughter caught his attention. “Wow, you are _seriously_ going commando? That’s…huh, kind of hot, actually.” Jack yanked the pants the rest of the way off Rhys’ legs, only pausing a moment to raise an eyebrow at his choice of socks and casually chuck them across the room, before moving back up to start unbuttoning Rhys’ shirt. He left the shirt open but still on, and leaned back for a moment to admire his handiwork.

Jack fumbled through the drawers of his desk, pulling out a small bottle. “Do I even need to ask why that’s there?” Rhys rasped. Jack’s smirk as he popped the cap off was the only answer he needed. He drizzled a copious amount of lube over his fingers, spreading it evenly across his fingertips with his thumb. He used his clean hand to prop up one of Rhys’ legs and rubbed slick fingers against his perineum. Jack heard a hitch in Rhys’ breathing that quickly changed into a quiet moan as he slid one finger in, soon followed by a second. Jack reangled his fingers with a look of faint concentration on his face. He rubbed against a spot that made Rhys groan and try to grind down onto his fingers. Jack moved his free hand to Rhys hip to pin him down, pressing his thumb under his sharp hipbone hard enough to leave bruises. A third finger was added and Rhys tried in vain to shift his hips under Jack’s grip, desperate for more friction. He was leaking a small pool of precome onto his stomach and he could feel his fingers ache where they clenched the edge of the desk, but he didn’t dare move them or else Jack might stop touching him and Rhys thought he might actually die if that happened.

Jack dragged his fingers against Rhys’ prostate again as he slid them out and Rhys makes an embarrassing sound that may have been a whine. He takes a shaky breath, the only point of contact between him and Handsome Jack the fingers pressed harshly into his hip and god, does he need more. He locked eyes with the man leaning over him and the desperation must have been clearly plastered on his face, because Jack gives him this merciless grin and shakes his head. “No, you are _definitely_ going to need to beg for this.” Rhys can feel Jack’s nails digging into his hip. “Beg like a good Hyperion boy – that’s practically basic training when you’re hired, right?”

Rhys is having trouble breathing and there aren’t even hands around his neck. “ _Please_ ”, his voice still rough and harsh. “I’m gonna need you to be a bit more specific.” Jack looked like he was having the absolute time of his life. “Please, _Jack_. Fuck me.” Rhys says the name almost like a prayer and something in Jack’s expression shifts when he hears his name, spoken in a way that was nearly reverent. It’s a kind of blasphemy that makes Jack shudder, hyperaware of the way his cock pressed against the zipper of his pants. He took both hands completely of Rhys and stripped off his thigh holster and belt, placing the gun still within arm’s reach with a warning look at Rhys. Jack unfastened his pants and let them hang lower on his waist, not bothering to take them off entirely. He poured more of the lube onto his palm and rocked into his fist with a soft sigh.

Rhys couldn’t see what Jack was doing from this angle, but he could hear it and god did that obscene, slick sound leave nothing to his imagination. “Jack, _please_ ,” he groaned. Jack lifted one of Rhys’ legs over his shoulder and pushed into Rhys with a gasp that he couldn’t entirely stifle. He wiped off his palm on a nearby jacket – probably belonging to Rhys – and placed it against the desk for support. He slowly pressed in the rest of the way, moving a knee up onto the desk for better leverage. A teasing shift of his hips earns him a quick intake of breath. Rhys gives a shaky sigh as Jack pulls out, only to arch under him during the next thrust, moaning sharply. His other leg ends up wrapped around Jack’s back, trying to pull him impossibly closer. Rhys makes sounds that are nearly keening, rolling into each thrust until Jack freezes over him and Rhys realizes with shock that his hands were roughly entangled in Jack’s hair.

He has enough time to dimly feel fear before his wrists are slammed down onto the desk behind his head and fingers wrap tightly around his throat again. The tightness around his neck made him feel like there was molten metal slowly being poured down his spine, feeling spots of faded numbness where too many sensations were burning out a once with heated spikes of sensitivity from blood pooling strangely with the arteries compressed. The weight on his wrists, his neck, starts to slip into a muted ache with pinpricks of sharp pressure, but the rough friction of Jack fucking him – he feels that with stunning clarity. If he could’ve forced more than quiet whimpers past the hold on his throat, he thinks he would’ve been screaming.

Rhys could barely breathe past the obstruction, but even so felt the flood of chemicals, the waves of distress, create the kind of overwhelming heat that builds up and ignites nearly every movement. Jack momentarily loosens the hold, letting Rhys take several wild gasps of air. The rush of oxygenated air into his lungs and the rush of endorphins from the relief feels nearly blinding. Before Rhys can fully catch his breath, the fingers are digging in again. All he can do shut his eyes and let out a strangled groan and he can feel his cock twitch in response. “God, you could be actually dying right now, but you are actually getting off on it. What if I didn’t let go this time?” Jack could feel Rhys trembling underneath him like he was about to shatter, and he could see in his eyes that it was barely from fear.

Rhys is so on edge that he wants to sob, hands pinned and needing just a little bit of friction, of anything. Jack relaxes his hold again, thumb caressing his throat in a way that could almost be misconstrued as affectionate. Rhys inhales sharply and comes across his stomach with a wrecked moan. Jack tenses over him and shudders through his own orgasm, groaning something that sounded suspiciously like Rhys’ name. He pulls back and drops heavily into his chair while they both try to catch their breath, before slipping into a small fit of laughter. Rhys can’t properly manage the look of indignation he’d like to convey. “It’s just…WOW. You are _really_ kind of messed-up, Rhys”. Jack stifles a couple more chuckles. “Nah, that was good. We could do it again sometime, kid.” Rhys stares unfocusedly at the ceiling from where he was still sprawled on the desk, wondering what, exactly, he had gotten himself into this time.


End file.
